


In Between

by IaMcHrIsSi



Series: Small pictures [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-01
Updated: 2015-10-18
Packaged: 2018-04-12 09:45:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 8,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4474646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IaMcHrIsSi/pseuds/IaMcHrIsSi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scenes in between the PT and the OT</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A gift from the Godess

**Author's Note:**

> I decided to post my drabbles from tumblr here. I hope you like them!

Luke was quiet. Almost too quiet, Beru thought, though she did not say that aloud. Neither her husband nor Master Obi-Wan (she should probably call him Ben, know, even though that would take some time to get used to) really had any idea what a newborn child should behave like, and so they didn’t consider it strange, but Beru had been around babies her whole life. She knew that a child as young as Luke usually wasn’t this quiet.

He missed his sister, she supposed. Master Obi-Wan said that their force-bond should be broken, that Luke probably wouldn’t remember that he even had a sister, but Beru wasn’t sure. There had always been ones with strange abilities among her people, some who knew the future, some stronger, quicker than the others. Most just knew things. Shmi had been like that. And she would bet her life that Luke was like that, too. Master Obi-Wan could go on and on about force sensitives, and he sure was the expert about all things Jedi, but Beru knew all that her aunts had taught her, all that Shmi had taught her. This little boy missed his sister. Luke knew his sister (Leia, Master Obi-Wan said her name was Leia) existed, like Shmi had known that her son was alive, even years after she’d last seen him, and Luke missed his sister.

Oftentimes, the boy just stared, looked around with big blue eyes (his father’s eyes. Beru had only met Anakin Skywalker once, but she recognized his eyes immediately), sometimes almost as if he was searching something (someone), sometimes simply curious. Whenever she could, Beru took him in her arms. She’d take him outside, sitting down in the shadows of the market, where the children of the desert met, and tell him the stories of her people, while other children (some slaves, some freeborn, all children of the desert) listened and sometimes older people cut in to elaborate or tell another story. They were Luke’s people too. Luke was Shmi Skywalker’s grandson, the freeborn son of a slave. He was just as much a child of the desert as she was.

She did not have time for such visits in the town often. Owen and her had never been rich, and now, with an extra mouth to feed, almost every minute of her day was needed to keep the farm running. But Beru didn’t complain. She had never planned on children, had always known that she could not have them, and so she took Luke as what he was: A gift of the goddess, her precious little boy. She had fallen in love with him quicker than she’d thought possible, and she knew that for all his gruff demeanor and all his nagging, Owen had, too.

Owen was a practical man. He’d always enjoyed listening to Shmi’s stories, but he was no child of the desert, he did not really believe the stories. They were fairy tales to him, legends that were nice but no more important than the newest holo novel. He didn’t truly understand. Beru loved him, she loved him with all her heart, but she had sworn to herself that she would raise Luke as the child of the desert that he was. For his grandmother, and for Beru, herself, too, because it was her heritage, too, and she wanted this boy, her boy, too know it.


	2. Apart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luke and Leia always knew something was missing

It’s never really dark in Aldera. Even in the deepest night, the light of the city is reflected everywhere. Leia doesn’t like it. She prefers it when she is out wandering the mountains with Papa and Sabe or at one of the lakes outside the city. She can see the stars there.

Tonight she’s sitting in the roof garden her mother keeps so meticulously. It’s a beautiful place, bright flowers and well-smelling herbs all around. The royal gardeners don’t come here, for this is mama’s place, and only mama takes care of those flowers. She often tells Leia how relaxing it is to care for plants. Leia herself doesn’t really have the patience for it, but it is a wonderful place, and she sometimes comes here to think.

It’s the night before her 10th birthday. Leia’s not sure why she can’t sleep. She is exited, of course, to finally be 10, like Winter has been for a couple months now, but she doesn’t think that’s why she can’t sleep. It’s something else. A feeling she can’t describe. It’s as if… as if something’s missing, or someone. That is stupid, she knows, because everyone is already here. Mama and Papa are in their room, sleeping, Leia checked on her way here. Winter is in her room, too, and Sabe and Aunt ‘Soka are slated to come sometime during the day tomorrow. They called before Leia went to sleep, so she knows they are okay. (Papa always says that they are diplomatic envoys, that of course they are okay, but Leia isn’t stupid. She knows something’s up, she knows that Sabe and Aunt 'Soka are involved in something. She suspects that they don’t like the Empire and maybe even work against it. Papa at very least definitively doesn’t like the Empire, so there’s that.)

But she knows everyone is safe. Leia knows all the plans for tomorrow, the official celebration and the private party afterwards. She even knows where Winter hid the present she has for Leia, but she hasn’t looked, because that would spoil the surprise and Leia really likes surprises.

But still, Leia can’t shake that feeling. She looks up at the stars, trying to find her favorites, but tonight the lights of the city are so bright that she can hardly tell the points of light from one another. But she stays, because somehow, the strange feeling dims a bit when she is here, just looking at the stars.

* * *

Luke stares at the stars. They are bright tonight, shining and twinkling. He can’t sleep. He’s not sure why sleeping is so hard tonight, but he knows he shouldn’t be outside. It’s dangerous to be out in the desert in the dark, as Aunt Beru and Uncle Owen always tell him, and he has heard many stories of what happens to children who aren’t in bed before nightfall

Most of them a banta shit, he knows. Luke’s ten tomorrow, he’s not scared so easily anymore. As long as he stays on the farm and doesn’t stray into the desert (where the Tusken are) or the city (where the Hutts rule the night) nothing will happen to him.

He’s not sure why he can’t sleep. Some of his friends are very exited about their birthdays, but Luke isn’t, not really. There will be no party, because Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru can’t afford it. Maybe Aunt Beru takes him into the city to the other children of the desert, and they might tell Luke the tales of his people. He likes it especially when Amee tells stories. She is the best story teller ever, and can make even Aunt Beru afraid. But that’s not something that would cause him to lose sleep. Luke’s in the slave quarters quite regularly, because those are his people. Uncle Owen disagrees, but Luke and Aunt Beru know better.

But for now he just looks at the stars, and feels a bit more complete, a bit like a long lost piece of himself is … not back, but in looking distance. As if for a moment he’s not really alone anymore.


	3. Atonement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Obi-Wan is watching over Luke

The boy is running around and laughing. Ben can only shake his head. The sun is burning from above, and the sand is hot under his feet, but the little boy still has enough energy to run around and play.

The boys aunt joins him, playfully trying to catch him. She is laughing, too. They look so careless, as though they have no worry in the world. Ben feels incredibly nostalgic.

The boy, Luke, is younger than Anakin had been when Ben (he’d still been Obi-Wan still, back then) had met him, but they look so much alike that it hurts. The same sand colored hair, the same sky blue eyes. The same grin that only comes out when they are (were, and much to seldom, in Anakins case) truly happy. 

But Luke has an innocence about him that Anakin never had. Anakin had, even at nine, been a slave, a boy who had seen the worst the galaxy had to offer and who had faced death more often than any child should have to. Luke is four, and his laughter is free. Luke has never been a slave, has never had to risk his life in a pod race. He has never truly known loss.

However, Luke does know he is the son of a slave. Beru takes him into the city when her time allows, makes sure the little boy is integrated in the society, that Luke knows he is part of a community. Ben thinks that is a good idea. Anakin had been torn from his home at nine years old, and he had never truly been at home in the temple. It is one of the things where Obi-Wan had failed. He should have been able to make the boy a home, should have made sure his apprentice understood that the temple was a community, too, that Anakin was as much part of it as Obi-Wan had been.

Ben shakes his head. It is too late for such thoughts. Anakin had never felt at home, and Obi-Wan hadn’t done anything about it, and Anakin had turned. Sorrow is not going to change that fact now, however much he wishes it would.

Beru catches her nephew. The boy turnes around to hug her, still laughing gleefully. There is love and adoration in Beru’s eyes, and Luke reciporates. Once upon a time Obi-Wan would have felt uncomfortable with such an open show of attachments, but now… maybe it would have saved Anakin, would have stopped his friend from turning, if Obi-Wan had told him how much he cared, how much he had loved his little brother. 

Because oh yes, Obi-Wan had loved Anakin. He had been his brother, his partner, his family. Obi-Wan had struggled with it, often, because the Jedi Code forbids attachments, and he had always tried to supress it, but it had always been there. And once that attachment had formed… Obi-Wan had been attached to Padme. A good friend, maybe, if he’d allowed it, a little sister. He’d been attached to Ahsoka, almost a daughter or a niece. Ben doesn’t even know where she is these days. He thinks (hopes, prays) that she survived Order 66. His grandpadawan had always been clever, and good at getting out of the worst scrapes. He has to believe that she survived, because otherwise he isn’t sure that he won’t just go insane from it all.

And he is attached to Luke. It’s kind of ridiculous, really. Luke doesn’t even really _know_ him, has only met him a few times at the market. But Luke is Anakins son, Padmes son. He is hope and goodness and innocence, he is all that is left from the good man Anakin was. He is a chance for correcting past mistakes and for atonement for them. And Ben can’t let that go.

“I told you I don’t want you staring at my wife and my boy.” A gruff voice comes from behind. Owen Lars stands there, looking angry. It’s true. Anakin’s step-brother doesn’t like Ben coming here, doesn’t like him watching over Luke. Owen is afraid, and not without reason, as Ben has to admit.

“I’m sorry. I was just about to leave.” He apologizes politely. Good manners have saved his life more often than he can count, but he has come to realize that they don’t really mean all that much on Tatooine.

“Don’t come back. Leave my family alone.” Owen says darkly. Ben nods once and throws a last look to Luke and his aunt. They are still laughing happily. They are safe. And he will not make the same mistakes he made with Anakin.

Ben turns towards the desert and starts walking with heavy feet. A bit meditation will be good when he is alone.


	4. Baby Girl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Breha has a moment with her new Baby daughter.

Breha looks at the little girl in the crib. Leia, her name is. And she is her daughter.

It’s a strange feeling. After so many years of waiting, of hoping, of praying, only to be disappointed, after so many false alarms and, even more painful, miscarriages, suddenly there is a baby girl in the crib Breha and her husband bought so many years ago.

The girl sleeps. Finally. She had screamed for hours. Breha and Bail had not known what to do, nor had the doctors they had quickly called for help. Bail had said that the girl had screamed since being separated from her brother. He had, quietly, carefully, almost shamefully put forth the notion that their baby missed her brother. Breha had not known what to say.

That is perhaps the best way to describe it, Breha thinks. She doesn’t know what to say. She hasn’t known what to say since Bail commed her two days ago to tell her that they were adopting, now, a little girl, and could she please organize it so it looks legal? And by the way, the Republic has fallen, and Padme is dead, too. There are so many conflicting emotions swirling in Breha’s head, but she hasn’t really had the opportunity to bring them into order, to understand them all. It had been hectic, bringing up paperwork for the adoption without looking suspicious, trying to com her friends in Coruscant to find out if they were okay, Bail’s arrival, caring for Leia.

Now, however, she has time to think about it. The easiest to understand is her grief. Grief for Padme, first and foremost. Padme had been a dear friend, not as close as she had been to Bail, but close and cherished still. Grief for the Republic. Breha is Alderaanian, and she is very proud of it. She has never been truly invested in the Republic, but she knows that Bail was, and, as she suspects, still is. She will have to talk to him about it, and about the rebellion he no doubt at least considers. Grief for the Jedi who died. She is not a friend of the Jedi, not in the way Bail is, but murdering all of them? The massacre of even the children? Yes, she grieves for them.

A second emotion is fairly easy to discern. Fear. Fear of the future, fear of the Empire she can never support, fear for Bail who will surely at least try to oppose it, fear for her people who will be threatened by the new Empire, fear for Leia, who is force-sensitive and will be hunted down if she is ever found out. The fear is definitively justified, she decides, but it won’t help her right now.

Another emotion is betrayal. She feels betrayed by Palpatine, even though she was never close to him. He was a man elected to defend the democracy, not to destroy it. And she knows that Bail must feel even more betrayed, having been in Palpatines inner circle, even though he had doubted the man in the last months. 

Tied to this is the anger. Anger at Palpatine, anger at all the senators who had voted for him to become Emporer, anger at the clones (it is not their fault, they never really had a choice, a part of her whispers, and she takes a deep breath and finds this to be true), anger at Anakin Skywalker for turning and causing Padme’s death. She considers most of it valid. A hint of anger is there for Bail, too. For deciding to adopt a little girl without asking her first (she knows, _she knows_ , he meant well, and they have been talking about adoption for a few months now, and there was not really a chance to call her, and it was to dangerous, and the decision had to be made quickly, but a part of her still feels a bit irritated, a bit offended), for falling asleep when Leia was still crying (not his fault, and to be honest, it had amused her quite a bit, too), for the fact that she knows he will start a resistance against the Empire (it is something she loves about him: his passion for justice, for democracy, but right now, she wishes he didn’t have it). Her anger at Bail will pass, she knows. They will have to talk about it, but it will pass. Breha loves her husband dearly, and he did make the best decision he could have made. But dealing with emotions is important, lest they fester and cause real problems. It’s something her mother taught her, and her mother’s mother before her, and it has served her well in any situation.

She feels tremulous joy when she looks at the little girl in the crib. It’s a positive emotion, something that is always welcome. The girl is… everything she ever wished for. A daughter. Her daughter. She will raise her own daughter, teach her how to dance, how to do her hair, how to behave in court. She will tell her daughter stories, take her for walks and play with her. She has dreamed of this since… since she can remember, and now it will come true. She has a daughter, and Alderaan has an heir, and she feels incredibly happy.

Immediately following this, Breha identifies the last emotion: Shame. Her friend, Bail’s friend, Leia’s mother, _Padme_ died, and Breha feels joy. The only reason Breha now has a daughter is that Padme died. It makes Breha feel deeply ashamed, even though the rational part of her brain tells her that this is irrational. Padme can’t raise Leia, and she would want her daughter to be happy, to be loved. Still, the feeling is nagging at Breha. Sighing, she looks at Leia. In this moment, she promises Padme that she will love Leia, and protect her, and raise her to the best of her ability, not only for herself or for Leia, but also for Padme. And she will tell Leia about Padme. Maybe not Padme, Leia’s mother, but definitively Padme, Breha’s friend, and Padme, the senator and queen. It is not perfect, but it is all she can do.

Leia stretches, but stays asleep. Breha smiles. This will not be easy, she knows, but Breha has Bail, she has Alderaan, and she has a daughter. It will be enough.


	5. Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leia has a strange dream and shares a moment with Bail

The boy smiled. He didn’t say a word, but he didn’t need to. She understood him, knew him completely, like he knew her. It should be strange, but somehow it wasn’t. He offered her his hand and…

A knock on the door woke Leia. She glanced to the chrono on her bedside table. 8 am, half an hour after she usually got up. Strange. She rarely overslept. She sat up just as Papa opened the door.

“Good morning, Lelila.” He smiled. “I was wondering where you were.” There was an amused glint in his eyes.

“Morning, Papa.” She said, yawning. “I’m sorry. I guess I didn’t hear the chrono.” Usually she was a really light sleeper, the quiet music the chrono emitted (she only now noticed that the music was playing) being more than enough to wake her.

Her confusion must have shown on her face, because Papa asked: “Is everything alright?” He looked slightly concerned.

“Yes. It’s just… I had a strange dream.” It had been a really strange dream. Already, she felt the details of it slip out of her memory. There had been a boy… she thought. What had he looked like? Had they talked? Who had he been? It was all quite confusing. The only thing she knew for sure was that the dream had felt… good. Right. Safe. Familiar, somehow, as if she’d dreamed it before.

She must have still looked worried, because Papa came into the room to sit on her bed. “Is it because the Dance tonight? If you don’t want to go, you don’t have to, you know that. We can always come up with some excuse.” It was Leia’s first official Dance today. A traditional celebration for the crown princess of Alderaan, always held exactly a month after the princess’s 12th birthday. It was a huge event, and Leia had been looking forward to it for months. Blowing it off now would be a big deal. She was a bit nervous about it, and had talked about it with Papa. It was not, however, the reason for her … unease? No, that was the wrong word. Confusion? Maybe. It almost felt as though … as though something or someone was missing.

“No, Papa, of course not! The Dance is important. And I really want to wear that dress! I’m just… I don’t know. Maybe I’m a bit scared of growing up.” Leia said. Maybe that was really it.

Papa hugged her. “My dear, you are only 12. You are allowed to stay a child for quite a bit longer, and I wouldn’t want it any other way.” He said earnestly.

Leia smiled and nodded.

“Well then,” Papa said, looking relieved, “Your mother is waiting for you at the breakfast table. I suggest you hurry up a bit, you wouldn’t want to miss is, would you?” He said teasingly, a smile in his eyes again.


	6. Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vader sees Leia Organa and Pooja Naberrie. It brings up memories.

Laughter rings through the hall. It is such a strange sound, here, in the senate building in Coruscant, that people stop to look around, searching for the source. 

Darth Vader knows where the sound is coming from. Two young women, girls really, stand by the entrance. Both of them are brunette with brown eyes and pretty faces, as well as big smiles.

_(Like HER. They look so much like HER. He remembers small smiles and warm brown eyes and happy giggles and angry speaches and HER warm body next to him in the morning, when the world outside just didn’t matter, and…)_

Vader doesn’t particularly like the two women. They are both senators, annoyingly democratic, the younger one from Alderaan, Bail Organa’s daughter, and the older one from Naboo, the niece of a former senator and queen.

_(Deep blue sees, green meadows, flowers everywhere. Vibrant colors. A big house, expensive furniture. Smiles. HER parents, polite and warm and kind. Two sweet little girls, young and energetic, wanting to play with him. Trusting him. Laughter. HER smile, comfortable and happy and beautiful.)_

Vader glares at them, not that anyone would notice. He is still wearing his helmet, after all. He doesn’t really understand why they laugh. It’s not a good day for them. They have lost. Their proposal for an anti-slavery law (Vader had not hoped it would go through. Of course not. Why would anyone think that?) had been turned down quite clearly. Still, they laugh as though they’ve just won something.

_(Brown eyes that are sly but somehow still warm. “That was the point, love. It’s part of the strategy Bail and I thought up. That’s how politics work.” HER, working in HER office, tired but content. That special grin that speaks of success.)_

The older one says something. Vader is too far away to hear it, but it makes the younger one laugh. Soon they are both laughing again. They look familiar. And happy. They have no business being so happy.

_(HER_ _, laughing in the kitchen with HER sister. They are happy. Brown hair falls into equally brown eyes, they are comfortable with one another. SHE_ _is more relaxed than he ever remembers seeing HER. He is happy that SHE is happy.)_

They bump into another senator, old and entitled and proud, from one of the core worlds. He scolds them, face stern and voice deep. Politely, they apologize, but in their eyes there is still laughter. Vader is reasonably sure that he is the only one who notices.

_(HER with Bail Organa, laughing about an ambadassor. Pretending to pay attention during a particularly boring speech. Making fun of another senator in the security of their home. HER eyes glinting with amusement while SHE speaks calmly and politely, smoothing over wrinkles and keeping the peace.)_

The two young woman are holding each other by the hands now. They smile, and they are still talking quietly. Maybe it’s the light, but they look very much alike in this moment, almost like sisters. They also look very young, like the 24 year old and the 17 year old they are. Too young for this much responsibility.

_(“Are you an angel?” SHE is confused but nice. Kind. Beautiful, even without all HER riches. HER in full queen regalia, beautiful and young and colorful. So different from Tatooine. Somewhat childish giggles, a pout that fits the girl better than it does the queen.)_

Finally, the two senators leave. Vader has no doubt that they will go into one of Coruscants finest restaurant, celebrating some victory he doesn’t understand or care about. At least they are not in his sight anymore, then. He dislikes distractions.

_(He feels a pang of sorrow at seeing them leave. He can’t define it, doesn’t know why, but he wants to keep watching them. Almost wants to … protect them. But that’s impossible, of course. And not befitting of a Sithlord in the slightest._


	7. Promise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bail and Leia directly after Padme's death

The first two hours, the girl just screamed. Screamed as though she was in pain, as though everything was wrong, as though she was dying. Bail didn’t know what to do. He did not exactly have any experience with newborns, and for all he knew, the girl might actually be in pain.

Bail had never really known what to think of the Force, other that it existed and was tied to the Jedi. Master Yoda had said that the girl was strong in the Force, whatever that meant. Maybe she had felt what had happened? Felt her mother’s death, her father’s fall, the separation from her brother? At very least the last one, Bail thought. The twins had shared a womb and were now on the way to different ends of the galaxy. Even a newborn like the little girl would notice that, even though she probably didn’t really understand. It was cruel, to separate them like that, to tear them apart hours after their birth, but Master Yoda and Obi-Wan had agreed that it was best this way, and Bail wasn’t going to question them, not now. Not when everything had fallen apart before his eyes, not when Padme was dead.

Gods, Padme. He still couldn’t quite believe it. She had been a dear friend and a wonderful ally. In some corner of his mind she had always been the little sister he didn’t have, fierce and brave and clever. And now she was dead. He would have to call her family, inform them of her death and bring her home. Bail had no idea what to tell them.

Finally, the girls cries quieted to a whimper. She sounded exhausted, the poor girl, and extremely sad. It fit Bails mood quite well. He had already commed Breha, so that his wife would not be surprised when he came home with a baby. Bail grimaced. That had been an … interesting conversation. Breha and him had been planning to adopt a child ever since they had learned that she couldn’t have children, but they had never thought it would happen under such circumstances. His wife had cried the tears he was not yet ready to shed. Padme had been a dear friend to Breha, too.

Bail shook his head. Now was not the time to grieve. That would come later. Now he had to bring this little girl, his daughter ( _Padme’s daughter_ ) home, he had to arrange a natural looking adoption and somehow come up with an explanation of all this that would not send the Naberries straight to his doorstep. It was not right to keep this from them, to keep Padme’s children from them, but, as he and Obi-Wan had agreed, the Naberries were the very first address the Emperor would go looking if he ever wanted to find the twins. They had to be kept save. And to archive that, nobody could know.

Bail looked at the girl, now quietly lying in the makeshift bed he had made her out of a few blankets and pillows. She stared at him with big blue eyes. He knew, rationally, that a newborns eyes couldn’t focus on anything farther than a few inches away from them, but in this moment, it seemed like her eyes were piercing him, as if she saw him exactly like he was and recognized him.

He stood up and lifted her into his arms. He was nervous, he really did not have much experience handling babies, but the girl stayed quiet, eyes on his face, so he probably didn’t do too badly. Bail smiled. “Hello my Lelila,” he said. “I’m sorry for all that has happened to you, and by the Gods, believe me, I wish it had not, I wish you could grow up with your brother. But I promise you, I am going to be the best papa I can be, and I am going to love you forever and always.”


	8. Stories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short look into Tatooinian culture

The flames are dancing in the middle of the room, red and yellow and orange. They make the shadows dance, too. It could be scary, this halflit room in the middle of the poorer parts of the town, but Luke sits on his aunts lap, surrounded by people he knows, and feels more safe than anywhere else.

Next to the fire there is an old woman. Her face is wrinkled, her eyes milky and unseeing. She sits on an old couch, used and torn and ugly. But the couch is clean and newly colored (green, this time, they had had to save up money for months). Next to the old woman sits her granddaughter, younger, with sharp clear eyes that watch both her grandmother and her guests. They are poor, but they are proud.

The woman’s name is Imee, her granddaughter is named Amee. Luke has known them his whole life. Imee is the story teller of the community, the keeper of their legends and the wise woman that everyone goes to for advise. Amee will take over that duty when Imee dies. Everyone knows it. At least technically. Luke does not want to think of Imee dying. She is one of the constants in his life, the old wise woman who can see more than anyone else, somehow, even though she is blind.

(Sometimes, she just knows some things. That someone will come to visit. That the sand people will attack. That someone has had an accident and needs help. A gift from the Goddess, she calls it. Luke too, just knows some things. Imee says that the Goddess must like him. Beru is proud, but scared, somehow, whenever this is mentioned. Luke doesn’t understand that.)

“There was a woman, once.” The room immediately falls silent as Imee speaks. She does not speak loudly, and her voice is frail and used, but when she speaks, everyone listens.

“It was years and years before our time, when the suns burned brighter and we were free, when the desert was ours and our people were the only ones on the planet.” Luke snuggles into his aunts lap. His closes his eyes, not to sleep, but to imagine. He wants to see the things Imee is talking about, even if only in his mind.

“The womans name was Peree.” Luke smiles. He likes the story of Peree. Luke likes most stories, but Peree is one of his favorite heroes. He likes to imagine that he’s a bit like her.

“There was a drought in the Peree’s village, and the well dried up and the plants died, and everyone had to suffer hunger and thirst. Many villagers cursed the Goddess, for bringing such suffering on them. Why does She do this to us, they asked. What have we done wrong?

It was only Peree, however, who went out into the desert and searched the Goddess council. It was a dangerous thing, to go out into the desert, like it still is, and Peree did not have much water. Her family could not spare any.

Still, Peree went. She wandered into the desert, searching the Goddess. She walked for days and days, her waterskin getting steadily emptier, but she continued, looking for signs of the Goddess, until she found a small rock. Peree sat down in the shadow of that rock. She was exhausted and she was thirsty, but she did not want to give up.

As she opened her waterskin, though, she heard something behind her. Slowly, carefully, she stood up. Peree looked around herself in that moment, and she was afraid, for the first time since setting out days ago.”

Imee’s voice gets even quieter, but so does the room. It is, Luke thinks, as though everyone in the room was holding their breath. Even the fire doesn’t crackle as loud as it did before. Imee pauses for effect, and Luke is scared for Peree, at least a bit, even though he knows the story.

“Hiding in the shadow of the rock where two children, a girl and her little brother. They were thirsty and hungry and dirty, but the Goddess had kept them alive, even in the desert, because they were her children.

Peree offered them the last of her water. It was a dangerous thing to do, for it was a long walk home, but Peree knew that the children needed the water more than she did. Happily the two children accepted.

And as they drank, first the little boy, then his sister, Peree suddenly felt deeply ashamed, for she recognized the children. They were orphans, children from her village, who had been left to care for themselves after their parents died. Peree had known it, but like the rest of her village she had prefferred to ignore it. 

Now, however, she took those children into her arms and apologized to them. She held them and assured them that they would not be left alone, not again. They watched the twin suns set together, for it was too late to go back home, and Peree told them all the stories she knew, all the stories her mother and her mother’s mother had passed down to her.

When the children were asleep, Peree prayed to the Goddess. She apologized to Her, deeply ashamed of her behavior, but she did not beg for herself. Instead she begged the Goddess to let the children live.

The Goddess heared Peree. The next day was cool, cooler than Peree remembered it ever being, and when the three of them, Peree and the two children, set out to walk back to their village, nothing stood in their way. They did not have water anymore, yet still the Goddess protected them and made sure they arrived safely.

There was a big welcome in the village. Upon seeing the two children, everyone stopped cursing the Goddess, for they had realized what She was punishing them for. The children were taken in and given food and water, and they were protected and recognized as part of the village, as they were children of the desert like all of them, for the Goddess is all our mother.

And soon after Peree had brought the children back home, the drought ended. The Goddess is a mother, she forgives her children. But neither Peree nor the villagers forgot. We have to stand together, or we don’t stand at all. We have to protect or own, for we are all children of the same mother, a family that has to care for all members, especially the weak and poor. That was what they learned, and that was what they remembered and passed down generation to generation, as I am now tellin you.”

There is silence in the room for a few more moments after Imee has ended her story. It is as if all of them have to find their way back to reality, Luke thinks. He certainly needs a moment to do that.

He feels Beru ruffling his hair, and hears Amee talk quietly with Camie’s mother. People are getting up, he smells tea. He smiles. It is Laree who made the tea, he knows. Laree makes the best tea in the whole town.

He slips of his aunts lap to get himself some tea. And stops a moment to breath in the atmosphere. The smell of Laree’s tea, the crackle of a small fire, the soft whispers of adults talking to one another. Luke feels safe here, he feels loved and protected, part of the big family that are the children of the desert. This is his home, the lesson learned from Peree’s story.


	9. Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bail and Leia watch a storm

The bed is empty.

Bail’s first reaction is panic ( _Where is Leia? Has something happened to his daughter? Did someone take her? Has someone found out?_ ). It is good that nobody is there to see it, because for almost a minute Bail just stands there, absolutely still and very pale, and stares at the empty bed.

Then, finally, he calms down enough for rational thought to kick in. Yes, the bed is empty, but nothing here looks out of order. The door looks fine, as do the windows. He knows the palace security is the best in the galaxy (has made sure of it himself). Nothing here suggest that something bad has happened. He notes that Leia’s favorite blanket is missing, though. 

Still debating whether or not to call security, he looks into Winters room. The little girl sleeps peacefully, undisturbed by both his worry and the storm outside. Lightning shines through the window, suddenly illuminating the room. Winter’s hair seems to glow.

And just like that, Bail knows where to look for Leia. He doesn’t quite run, but he walks definitively faster than usual. The panic hasn’t subsided, and he knows it won’t until he has Leia safe in his arms. Taking two steps at once he finally reaches the observation roof, a big room with walls out of glass as to make it possible to look outside. There are maps of both Aldera and the stars, telescopes, encyclopedias about galaxies far away… and his daughter, sitting on the floor with her blanket around her shoulders, staring at the storm in awe.

Bail smiles. Leia has always been fascinated by everything related to the sky. It scares him sometimes, just how much she is like her birth name suggests. Skywalker. Yes, that fits Leia all too well.

He walks over and sits down next to her. Leia doesn’t look at him, but she leans into him. “It’s pretty. The sky. It’s really pretty.” She says, sounding both tired and enchanted.

Bail puts his arm around her small frame. He remembers himself when he was her age. Four-year-old Bail had been scared of thunder, but Leia … no, never his Leia. “That it is.” He agrees, quietly.

“Winter is a bit scared of it, I think. The thunder, I mean. Not the lightning. I told her it’s actually the lightning that’s more dangerous, and she said she knows that, but she was still scared of the thunder.” Leia confides. Bail chuckles. 

“Well, the thunder seems more dangerous, don’t you think? It’s very loud.” He says most earnestly. Leia looks up at him with big brown eyes.

“But it doesn’t do anything.” She protests. “It’s loud, yes, but that’s all!” She honestly doesn’t understand it, Bail knows, and it amuses him to no end. Usually Winter is the more logical one, the one who thinks things through instead of just going for it like Leia. But Winter has always been afraid of storms, while Leia is pretty much fearless, especially in this regard

“Well, darling, I was scared of storms, too, when I was your age. Not everyone is as fearless as you are, princess.” He tells her. Leia giggles. It’s the sweetest sound, and it warms Bail’s heart in ways he can’t even begin to describe.

“That’s stupid.” She says, but her eyes glint mischievously. Bail laughs and pulls her closer to him, content to feel her small warm body next to his.

(They stay there, just sitting and talking for almost two hours, until Leia falls asleep. Bail is quite sore the next morning, but he wouldn’t want it any other way.)


	10. Watching

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sabe watches her best friend's daughter

The two girls play in the water, swimming and laughing and trying to dump one another. Their hair, brunette and white, gets tangled together, but they just continue laughing. They are so young.

It’s moments like this that make Sabe think of her own childhood, of the times she played in the great lakes of Naboo with her sisters, and later with Padme and the other handmaidens. There had never been to much times for childish plays with the girls in the palace, but then again, they had been older, serving their planet as a ruler and her servants. It had been a good time, full of work and danger but also full of friendship and the feeling to actually be able to do something.

Sabe looks around the place with a trained eye. The beach is fairly remote and empty, and there are other bodyguards around, but she has been a protector of royalty since she was fourteen. It’s not a habit she can just turn off, not that she wants to. Those two girls in the water are her students, her responsibility, at least right now. She will protect them, like she wanted to protect Padme.

Thinking about Padme is hard. Padme was both the woman she’d sworn to protect and her best friend, her queen and her sister. It had been a curious relationship, full of opposites, that had none the less worked with almost no tension. They had always been closest in the group, together whenever possible, sometimes, especially in the beginning, even sharing a bed. They had both been scared, just little girls who did not really know what they were doing, and holding hands while sleeping had given them both comfort.

But Padme is dead. She died with the Republic, as Bail is fond of saying. It is both true and absolute bullshit in a way that almost amuses Sabe. Padme would have hated the Empire, Sabe knows, but she also would have fought it with every weapon in her arsenal. The thought that Padme would have died of a broken heart is laughable, and Sabe knows that Bail knows she knows it. They have never talked about it, never even implied it, but Sabe has eyes and ears and a brain to think about what she learns. She knew about Padme’s pregnancy, suspected the father, and when she looks at Leia, bright and clever and beautiful, with Padme’s eyes and Anakin’s smile, she can puzzle out what must have happened quite easily. Sometimes Sabe feels guilty, because while she knows, the Naberries almost certainly don’t, but it is, after all, for Leia’s safety. Sabe is not stupid. She has never understood Jedi and all their prophecies and religious beliefs, but she knows that they thought Anakin was something special, a Chosen One, whatever that means. And with a Sith Lord as Emperor, it is not difficult to realize that Leia would be in deep trouble should her biological parentage ever come out

And Bail loves these girls, both of them. Leia and Winter are his daughters, and nothing will ever change that. It is good to know it, good to know that whatever happened to their biological parents, those two girls will always have a loving father and a loving mother, for Breha, while not quite as openly in her feelings, loves them just as much as Bail does.

Sabe’s eyes return to the girls. Leia shrieks and tries to dump Winter under water, but Winter is to quick for her. They are both laughing. Sabe smiles sadly. They are 7. They do not know about the dangers of the world yet, don’t know about the death sentence the Empire is for all of them. Tomorrow Sabe will leave Alderaan, trying to find similar minded friends to maybe start an organized rebellion like Bail has wanted to since the Empire took over. Sabe knows it won’t be easy, suspects that it’s going to take years to form such an alliance. 

But for now she is content watching two girls play in the water, and hoping that she can protect if not Padme herself, maybe at least Padme’s daughter.


	11. The lies we tell ourselves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sabine meets an old friend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I watched the new Rebels trailer, and I’m really intrigued by this scene with Sabine and the mysterious lady in pink armour. I really want her to be Sabine’s ex-girlfriend, so I wrote this. It’s pure wish fullfillment and is probably going to be jossed, but hey, that’s what fanfiction is for.

The Imps are everywhere, but then again they always are. At least when one is trying to steal one of their TIE fighters, that is. Sabine can easily pick out their white armour against the grey of the shipyard.

Hera and Zeb are somewhere behind her, she knows, probably held up by more Imps, and the last time she’s seen Kanaan and Ezra, they’d been fighting with the lady in black. Sabine tries not to worry. Her teammates are perfectly capable of looking after themselves, and she has other things to do. Like not getting killed by some stormtroopers.

Suddenly, the Imps are attacked from behind. Sabine tries to see if it’s Hera or Zeb, but… it isn’t. It’s a person in a pink, so very very familiar armour. For a moment Sabine forgets to breathe.

She recognizes the helmet _(how could she not? She painted it herself),_ she recognizes the rifle _(it had gotten her out of so many sticky situations)_ and she recognizes the bounty hunter ID on her old friends hip _(Sabine used to have one, too, still has it somewhere hidden in a box on the Ghost that she never opens)_.

Between the new arrival _(Bo, her name is Bo)_ and Sabine, the Imps are dealt with very quickly. There is no sign of Sabines friends, which she decides means that they are probably okay _(they have to be okay)_.

Sabine takes a deep breath, gathers her courage, and tries not to let any emotion color her voice: “Still a bounty hunter I see.” She says, and is proud of how strong her voice carries through the quiet shipyard.

“Don’t tell me you don’t miss is.” Bo answers, sharp and just a tad amused, and the problem is that Sabine does, she really does, more often than she admits even to herself.

Sabine misses the lack of responsibility for anyone, she misses that she didn’t have to answer to anyone and that she was free, that her world was easy and nobody expected her to think about the morals behind anything. She misses just being herself completely, without any constraint, that there were no rules and nobody to tell her what to do.

But most of all, she misses Bo. She misses their snarky bickering, she misses drawing together and dying each others hair, she misses watching movies and drinking caf in lousy bars. She misses soft kisses and holding hands and stuttering breaths, wandering hands and breathless laughter. She misses… everything they were.

But that’s in the past. Sabine isn’t that girl anymore, this amoral bounty hunter who cared for nothing but the next paycheck and maybe _(more than anything)_ the girl beside her. She has grown up, has become a different person, one that actually sees the wrongness in the world, one that does something about it. She’s someone her mother would be proud of.

That doesn’t mean she doesn’t miss it, though, that she doesn’t sometimes lies awake at night, remembering an easier time even as she hears Hera and Kanaan bickering about the lates job, as she sees Ezra doing his exercises and ignores Zebs horrible taste in music.

“I don’t.” She lies, and it almost sounds convincing.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on tumblr as lukeleiahan


End file.
